Pure Morning
by Heartaches-by-the-Number
Summary: 'Strange infatuation seems to grace the morning tide...'  A Scabior story.  ONESHOT.


**Pure Morning**

**A/N:**_ This is my first fanfiction for a long time. I take my inspiration from Nick Moran's portrayal of Scabior, as well as the song 'Without you I'm nothing' by Placebo. Give this a read and let me know what you think. :)_

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. Sadly._  
_

* * *

She hadn't been hard to trace.

Scabior hadn't even needed to use his other senses.

He'd just followed the trail. The long and alluring track of crimson on the fresh snow, starting by the river and making its way up into the forest. A young girl's life so quickly and tragically seeping away until blood was the only evidence that she'd been there at all.

It was oh-so easy to pursue such things behind already world-weary eyes.

He wondered if she was still alive. It had happened once or twice - after his Snatchers were done 'playing' with their toys they never bothered to clean up after themselves. They never checked to see, after such brutalities, if the innocent creatures were still alive or not. The young girls, some not even eighteen years old, would be left to bleed out their last breaths alone.

Scabior wasn't like that. Although he certainly wasn't nice. His was a world of violence and deceit, of hatred and malice in which the powerful survived and weak were overcome. Killing was a part of him in the same way that his hands were. He liked his girls at seventeen, girls with dark hair and daring eyes. He liked the creatures that had sinister and dangerous sexual fantasies, but were still as virginal as the day they were born. He liked these girls because there were whole worlds of passion waiting to be unleashed inside them. He liked them because they were his to kiss and to kill.

He was very particular about _his_ girls.

The others would just pick any of them. _"See a muggle, kill a muggle…but not before having a little fun!" _ As long as you fit the criteria…as long as you were muggle or mudblood, even halfblood and of course very young and very female you were the perfect candidate for rape, torture and ultimately, death.

The problem was that men…..that _people _like Fenrir Greyback didn't take the time to finish the job. Physically and mentally ripping a girl to shreds was all he had time for – when he was done he'd simply laugh and leave.

Sometimes the others watched, or worse, joined in.

Scabior did not. If he was going to take control of a girl like that, it would be him and only him. No other man would dare touch one of _his _girls.

As he walked he sighed, following the trail with a practised ease. They'd gotten ahold of this one the night before. It was early morning now. The sun glistened beautifully through the trees and onto the tarnished, ivory snow. If his instincts were right, at least he could say she'd die staring into this striking scene, at least he could say that this had been nature's gift to her on judgement day.…She was – _had been_ - a muggle, walking along the edge of the road in the dead of night. The whole troupe of Snatchers had spied her immediately, and as they got closer they saw her long, chocolate hair and her brown, leather satchel. They saw her green eyes and her innocence. They saw that she was vulnerable and alone.

He supposed she had been trying for a ride someplace…

But it didn't matter now.

He had let them carry her off into the night. Hadn't said a word. How could he really when he did that same thing so often to the girls he found? Besides, it was a way of maintaining group morale. As a leader Scabior had more responsibilities than he cared to admit. Without their little 'pleasures' they'd probably turn on him and that was the last thing he needed when Voldemort was so eagerly watching his every move.

Was he watching Scabior even now? Did he laugh at the way this fiendish rogue was going to end the suffering of this girl, if she'd indeed had the misfortune of being left alive by his comrades? He scoffed. It was almost heroic of him.

But of course there was the _other_ reason. The decidedly more important one. He couldn't have some simpering victim left behind only to live and tell the world what had happened to her! The Dark Lord didn't take kindly to such things and so Scabior made a point of ensuring it would never happen.

Normally though it wasn't as much of a hassle as it was that morning. The girls were always left close by, their wasted lives as much exposed as their wasted bodies. He'd simply find them and…eradicate any problematic survivors. But this one was different.

After a few minutes of walking his eyes found a clearing; and then they found her.

He'd guessed from the bloody mess he'd been following that she had survived the initial attack and attempted to escape. Bless her heart, even as he approached her she was still fighting for what little life she had left inside of her.

It was Scabior's boots that she saw first, until her teary gaze met his face. It was clear she had probably been raped numerous times, as was Greyback's gruesome practice. She was lying on her back, half naked and bleeding still, although he could tell the flow was ever so slight. She was bruised and cut and bitten. Breathing still, despite it all.

He crouched next to her, both impressed and disgusted.

He tilted his head to examine the silly girl.

She might have been his after all.

"Please…"

He frowned. Only _now_ did she want him. Only _now_ did she need him. It was a cry of want only because she wished to live, not because she wished to escape into another world as his favourites did. To Scabior now she was just another pet that had to be put down.

A hoarse cry, "Help me…"

She was not one of his. His were fiercesome and beautiful, they'd lived sad and unsatisfying lives and he had found them and saved them. '_No more pain,' _They all died in the throes of love, lust and pleasure. They adored him and he them. He gave _his_ girls one hell of a time before they departed, and they left the world with satisfaction in their hearts and smiles on their faces.

But she wasn't smiling, and there was little he could do for her now.

This girl would not be charmed by him, nor lured away. She would not feel the heat of his breath on her neck nor know the touch of his hand on her skin. She'd never experience the way his gaze could pierce her very soul and bring back with it every desire she'd ever had or hoped to fulfil. Unlike _his _girls her last hours had been spent in pain and not absolute pleasure.

Scabior saw Fenrir's prey fading, her eyes dimming slowly though she did nothing but stare at his face. It was like she knew. She would not survive this ordeal; she would not wake up and find it had all been some unbearable dream. _She would die._

**"Avada Kedavra."**


End file.
